X-Istence
by Jane Westin
Summary: X-Files/X-Men crossover. A baby, some aliens, Wolverine.. It's a double-helix of drama. Next chapter has been posted.
1. Prologue: Our Son

**Summary**: X-Files/X-Men crossover. Post-"Existence." Their baby is just a little bit different…

**Disclaimer**: The usual. I don't own anyone…I'm just borrowing them and mixing them up a bit. : )

**Author's Note**: Yes, I know it's been a long time. I know. Far too long. And I know I left everyone hanging with the dramatic exit of Logan in the "Day in the Life" series. But I needed to get this one out of my system, and who knows? Maybe you'll like it better. Anyway, read and enjoy. And remember: Please review, 'cause I write for YOU. : )

My new motto: Jane. Inconsistent, but consistently good. g 

X-Istence 

By Jane Westin

PROLOGUE: Our Son

They had wanted to create the perfect soldier—the ultimate killing machine. The alien genes would have rendered her child practically invincible, immune to even the smallest scrapes and bruises that were inevitable if you were a small boy living in suburban Virginia. 

Would have. It hadn't, and that was the important part. The alien DNA hadn't manifested itself in the child. He was useless to their cause.

Scully cradled her sleeping infant son a little closer and sighed heavily. The world was a scary place, and it was made no less scary by the Big Bad Government. An obscenely liberal thought, she knew, especially from a federal agent, but what the hell. The nightmarish events of the past week didn't exactly follow FBI canon, so she saw no real problem with thoughts of a mildly mutinous manner. She couldn't say she was really pleased with _anyone's_ actions lately, anyway, with the possible exception of Skinner, who'd done humanity a favor and rid the world of a certain evil (and unarguably effeminate) ex-agent. And, of course, Mulder, who'd heroically showed up ten minutes late.

As usual.

Still, she had to love the guy.

And she _did_, too. She'd realized it right after she finished screaming at him. Scully found his constant tardiness irksome, to say the least, but after the creepy (not to mention mortifying) experience of giving birth with a full audience of aliens, she was absolutely _infuriated_ at the man. The least he could have done was show up so she could call him a heartless bastard and accuse him of putting her here in the first place. 

But he hadn't, and when she'd calmed down, she'd realized that she never wanted to be apart from him again. And had probably felt that way for a long time. It was, of course, the birth of little William that had cinched it. 

Now she just had to figure out a way to tell him—and hope that the feeling was mutual. She had a pretty good idea that he felt the same way about her, judging by the wild look of panic in his hazel eyes when he'd come barreling into the makeshift birthing room, but with Mulder, you could never be sure.

And she needed to be sure.

_Knock knockity knock knock, knock knock._

Mulder? Already? Impossible. He'd said he'd be over at eight, and it was only seven-forty. Surely he wasn't going to get punctual _now._ Dear God, it was practically a moot point.

Sighing again, Scully shifted the baby, stood, and went to the door.

"I—" she began, but broke off abruptly when she saw who was standing on the stoop. Not Mulder—definitely not Mulder.

"Hi," Frohike said. He looked nervous, but then he always looked nervous when he talked to her. Side-effect of having an undying crush on her. Poor Frohike.

"We brought some presents for the baby." The words came out sounding rushed. Byers looked nervous too, but Scully suspected it was for different reasons than his lovestruck _compadre_. He struck her as the type who became extremely skittish around situations of an overly feminine nature, and visiting a mother and child in their home was about as feminine as you could get, if you discounted shopping and PMS. 

Scully smiled at them, trying to look as nonthreatening as possible, and took a few steps back to allow them entry. Cautiously, as though crossing the threshold of some forbidden boudoir, the three Gunmen stepped inside Scully's home.

"Nice crib." Langly seemed considerably more relaxed than Frohike and especially Byers, who now looked as though he might drop the wrapped package in his hands and bolt like a spooked horse. Scully assumed he was talking about the house, not the baby's crib, but Langly tended toward strange observations. You just never knew.

"Thanks." Scully walked slowly back toward her bedroom, trying to get them to move out of the foyer. She felt weirdly like a tour guide. _Come on, people, we're walking, we're walking…_

She considered saying the words out loud, but thought better of it, though they might deal with bizarre comments from her better than they would handle a conversation about the baby. A sudden laugh bubbled up, and Frohike and Byers jumped. Langly, to his credit, didn't flinch: he just stared at her warily, as though having a baby had tainted her sanity.

There was a long silence. 

"So, Scully," Byers began, making a titanic effort to speak, "what'd you name the—"

Baby, who chose that precise moment to open his blue eyes wide and let out an earsplitting wail.

If Byers and Frohike had been startled before, now they appeared to be frankly terrified. Byers looked as though he really _might_ make a break for it.

"William," Scully said loudly over the infant's lusty cries. She bent over little William and made soothing noises, bouncing him a little in her arms. He'd eaten only fifteen minutes ago, he couldn't be hungry again _already…_the books she'd read on motherhood didn't account for _half_ of what she'd experienced in these first twenty-four hours.

But apparently William was only startled by the presence of other people in the room; after a few minutes' worth of quality attention from his mother, he quieted again and contented himself with staring at the unexpected visitors. His eyes, startingly blue and wide despite the bright lights, roamed unfocusedly around his range of vision. He was going to be a bright kid. Scully just knew it.

Then, resignedly, she turned her attention back to the three men hovering nearby. Langly, who'd previously looked relatively at ease, was glancing nervously from Scully to William to Frohike to the door. And repeat. The other two bore a vague resemblance to deer in headlights.

"Oh, would you guys just _chill_!" Scully finally exclaimed, trying and failing to keep her voice low. 

The Gunmen looked up, their terror momentarily forgotten. For a moment they just stared at her, all three looking comically shocked. 

"Whoa." Langly broke the silence. "Dude. Scully just told us to _chill_."

Byers began to chuckle a little. It was a very controlled chuckle, Byers being Byers. But it seemed to relax the atmosphere: apparently Scully's little lapse into sixties lingo had broken the ice. At last they conceded to follow her partway into the bedroom and commenced what Scully would later refer to as the "Massive Cooing Frenzy." When she heard the door open a half hour later, she was immensely relieved—Frohike's fractured, toneless version of "Mary Had A Little Lamb" was beginning to grate on her nerves. Especially after six encores. 

Mulder appeared in the doorway to her bedroom, and the Gunmen, their nerves apparently still on edge, jumped. Simultaneously. 

It was all Scully could do not to laugh.

They backed out of the room quickly, guilty expressions on all three faces. "Get some rest," Frohike muttered over his shoulder. To Mulder, he said, "We didn't hear you come in."

"We were just dropping off gifts—" Langly added, shooting an uncertain glance at Frohike. 

"We just wanted to—" Byers broke off, looking worried, and Mulder finished his sentence for him. 

"See it with your own eyes," he said. He was smiling.

"It's incredible, you know," Frohike cut in, eyes rounded. "Your arriving in time to save Scully—getting her to a hospital—"

"We still don't know how you did it," Byers added, raising neatly plucked eyebrows. "Speaking with Agent Doggett, he said they never reached you with _specific_ coordinates—"

Three sets of eyes stared at Mulder, waiting for an explanation. 

"There was a light," he said simply. "I followed it."

For a moment all three were struck dumb. As usual, it was Langly who broke the stunned silence. 

"Guess we got our next headline," he said, and grinned.

Placing their gifts gently on a side-table, they turned to leave. Mulder caught one last bewildered glance from Frohike before the door closed behind them.

Then he turned to the bedroom.

He paused outside the door, drew a deep breath, and went in.

His heart nearly stopped at the sight of her. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, red hair falling slightly over her face. She was smiling. She was beautiful.

And cradled in her arms…her son. _Their_ son. His breath caught.

"How's everybody doing?" he murmured.

Sparkling eyes lifted to behold him, and her smile widened. She stood, swaying gently with the weight of the infant in her arms, and he marveled at how natural it seemed. He'd never pegged Scully for the mothering type, yet now he couldn't imagine her being anything else. 

"We're fine," she replied, her voice sweetly tender. She walked to him, close enough for him to examine his son. 

With infinite gentleness, Mulder pushed back the blanket. 

He was beautiful.

Silently Scully held out the child, and Mulder took his son into his arms. His son…

He felt the hot prick of tears at the back of his eyelids and blinked rapidly. 

"What're you going to call him?" he asked, and commended himself at the steadiness of his voice.

"William." Scully's reply was soft, the tenderness lingering in her tone. "After your father."

For a moment they were silent: Mulder marveling at the tiny person in his arms who was his flesh and blood, Scully smiling up at him, radiant.

"I don't know," he mused at last, looking down William. "He's got your coloring…and your eyes…"

Scully waited, gazing up at him expectantly.

"…but he looks _suspiciously_ like Assistant Director Skinner." Mulder's eyes twinkled with humor, and they shared a quiet laugh. Intimate, Mulder thought. This was the most intimate he'd ever been with Scully, and they weren't even naked. You just never knew.

He had to smile a little wider at that thought. William cooed and waved a tiny fist in the air, as though agreeing.

Then Scully was shaking her head, her smile fading. She looked suddenly vulnerable, almost as though she was going to cry. "I don't understand, Mulder," she whispered, her voice unsteady. "They came to take him from us…Why they didn't…" 

She let her voice trail off. He understood.

Mulder rocked the baby, who was watching his father with wide, intent eyes. "I don't quite understand it either," he replied softly, not taking his eyes off his son. "Except that maybe he isn't what they thought he was." 

There was a short pause; Scully drew a shaky breath, distress evident on her face.

"But that doesn't make him any less of a miracle, though, does it?" Mulder's eyes lifted at last, meeting her worried gaze and immediately warming her all the way through. He was still smiling.

At last Scully let herself smile a little. "From the moment I became pregnant, I feared the truth," she confessed, the doctor-tone slipping into her voice. Detachment, her defense mechanism. Then it faded away. "About how…and why…" She suddenly looked very young, her blue eyes filling. "And I know you feared it too—"

"I think what we feared were the possibilities." Mulder's voice flowed over her, soothing, reassuring. "The truth—" he met her gaze head on—"we both know."

Scully felt her heart skip a beat. Mulder's gaze bored into hers, but she forced her voice to be steady, steady, steady.

"Which is what?" She could barely breathe, anticipating his response.

He just smiled that same gentle smile. Then, cradling their son closer, he leaned in and kissed her.

And words became wonderfully unnecessary.

***

Time, that old bald cheater, passed.

Fox and Dana were married in a small, private ceremony. She took his name. They both cried.

The child who shared their DNA reached one year of age and smeared chocolate cake on his face. His mother took pictures; his father videotaped because he didn't trust digital cameras. Neither of them heard the first whisper on the nightly news, which came in the form of a blurb about a missing boy and an orphanage mysteriously destroyed.

The child took his first steps into his father's arms. Later that night Dana received a fax from John Doggett about a new case, this one involving a small girl who apparently caused the hologram-like manifestation of every individual's worst fears. The whisper turned into a murmur, and Dana, who still worked for the Big Bad Government, learned what her employers had known for nearly two decades. 

The child went to preschool. His mother had been right from the start; he proved to be a precocious child who could read simple books and speak in full sentences by the age of two and a half. Dana was afraid of the social pressures his intelligence would impose. Fox told her not to worry about it; he was a Mulder, after all, and he'd be just as charismatic as his father. Naturally.

Dana began to spend more time in the FBI labs, studying the DNA of numerous faceless individuals, meeting frequently with the geneticists on staff. Fox shopped online and bought as many books on this strange new subject as he could find.

The child got older and went into the first grade. One day he came home from school with a terrifically ugly picture of a flower, crayoned in brown. He told his parents it was from Brianna, and that Brianna was his girlfriend. Brianna was a little girl in his class. She had purple skin. 

That year, a man was beaten to death in a suburb of Pittsburgh. It was rumored that he could walk on water. No one thought he was Jesus.

The murmur got louder and crescendoed into a shout.

William graduated from the fifth grade. His parents took him out for ice cream. They went to his Wildcat games that summer, and no one asked about a little boy named Steven who'd been kicked off the team after the first game because he was ten times stronger than the coach. 

Once, when William was walking with his mother toward the baseball diamond, he tripped over his shoelaces. No big surprise there; his shoelaces were never tied. He went palms-first into the gravel. He didn't cry because ten-year-old boys don't cry in public, especially not in front of the girl they adore; his mother nevertheless saw the blood on his palms. 

But when he wiped his hands clean on the seat of his baseball pants, there were no wounds there at all.

Where had the blood come from? Where, where, where?

Where, indeed?

The question tormented Dana every night for almost two weeks. Finally she forgot about it. Whenever she found herself wondering why her little son so rarely got hurt, she pushed the thought aside. She never mentioned it to her husband, and it would surprise her later when she found out he'd noticed all along.

William turned eleven. He went to his first school dance with the purple-skinned girl he'd adored since they were four years old. She gave him a flower. This time it wasn't crayoned in brown on construction paper. His mother liked Brianna very much, but she still felt much better after she'd picked him up at ten o' clock. 

The sixth grade took to William, who never wanted to be called anything other than his full name. He had more friends than he could count and he was the best pitcher on the sixth-grade baseball team. But he was still a little boy, and little boys cry when their girl gets hit because her skin is purple. Those big boys' moms, he says sadly, don't like Brianna cause she got different skin, and so they don't like her either.

And when William asked his own mother why, she didn't have an answer.

Then he turned twelve, and the shout became a scream.

***

The phone call came while Dana was still at work.

The woman on the other end of the line was polite, but Dana heard the anxiety in her voice the moment she spoke. "Mrs. Mulder?"

"Yes." Dana turned away from her computer and furrowed her brow. Rarely was she called Mrs. Mulder by anyone at work; who could this woman be?

"This is Melissa Randall, the nurse at Lincoln Middle School. I'm calling about your son."

Dana's heart skipped a beat. "Is he all right?" 

A pause. 

"We have…a situation here. Perhaps it'd be best if you came and got him."

"But he's all right, isn't he?" Dana fought to breathe. Oh God, William had never been seriously hurt before. 

"He's fine." Again that hesitation. Uncertainty poured through the telephone receiver. "There was a fight between classes. He wasn't hurt, but—"

Dana didn't let the woman finish her sentence. "I'll be right there," she said, and raced for the door.

Minutes later, Dana's sedan screeched to a halt in front of Lincoln. She parked haphazardly in a handicapped spot and, clutching her jacket tighter around herself, hurried through the glass doors. She was halfway down the slick tiled hall when she realized with a start that she had no idea where the clinic was. Never in his life had William required the services of the school nurse.

Dana doubled back, scanned the school map posted by the front door, and took off at a near-sprint toward the nurse's office.

There was already a small congregation of faculty and parents in the clinic when Dana threw the door open. A small woman with cold eyes stepped forward and assessed Dana's disheveled hair and flushed cheeks. She pursed her lips as though biting back a sneer.

"You're Mrs. Mulder?" 

"I am." _Where is my son?_

"William is in that last room on the right. I'd like a word with you when you've finished." The words were not so much a request as a command, and though Dana disliked the woman's tone, she thought it best not to cause a stir until she knew what, exactly, was going on here. She stepped into the small private room meant for very ill children awaiting their parents' arrival. The lights were off. "Will?"

"Here, Mom." Her son's voice, usually so boisterous and bright, was a shadow of itself. Dana pushed back the curtain and breathed an audible sigh of relief. William looked unhurt—perfectly healthy, as a matter of fact. Why was he here? What was going on?

"Hi, buddy." Dana sat down on the cot next to her sandy-haired champion, who was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest, his hands tucked under his arms. "What's going on?"

She was startled to see tear-tracks on his freckled cheeks. William rarely cried; he was a naturally happy child who, even as an infant, smiled more often than not. As with any mother, it pained her immensely to see him upset.

"Honey, what's wrong?" Worry infused Dana's voice; she put an arm across the boy's slender shoulders. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

William didn't look at her. "They were teasin' Bri, Mom," he said, in a very tiny voice. "They were pullin' her hair and callin' her a mutie freak."

Rage swelled in Dana's throat. She loved Brianna as her own, and it infuriated her that so few people could see past the strange color of the little girl's skin. She struggled to keep her voice steady. "Who?"

"Kevin Kiesterman. Brad Renshaw. Trish Lamprey." His lip quivered. "They dumped all her stuff on the floor. She was crying, Mom. Bri never cries." 

Dana remembered Kevin. Blond, blue-eyed, and freckle-faced, he was the star of his class and the darling of the teachers. He and William had been friends when they were in the third grade.

 "I told 'em to leave her alone." William's voice caught. "I told 'em to leave her alone cause she's my friend and Kevin's all right when he's not around Trish. Then Kevin started talkin' like he was gonna hit me, and I said go ahead an' hit me if you're gonna. And he did an' I was gonna hit him back and then I—" William's chest hitched and he began to cry. "Somethin' _happened_, Mom, somethin' bad happened with my hands. I made him bleed. I didn't even think I touched him, an' I made him bleed." 

Dana pulled her small son close, stroking his tousled hair and making comforting noises, but her heart was pounding with anxiety. What could possibly have happened to upset William so?

After a moment, William pulled away and swiped fiercely at his eyes. "I wanna go home," he mumbled.

Dana nodded. "In a minute. I need to speak with the nurse, all right?" Her voice was soft, soothing. "I'll be back."

William nodded into his knees, and Dana stood and went out to the waiting room.

"Mrs. Mulder." The short woman stepped forward as soon as she caught sight of Dana. Her tone, though slightly more civil, was no less icy. "My name is Karen Morrow. I am the assistant principal of Lincoln. I'd like to discuss the incident today." 

"Of course." Dana swallowed her dislike for the woman and forced a smile. "Wh—"

Karen Morrow did not let her finish. "Shortly after lunch, there was a minor conflict involving Brianna Quimby, Brad Renshaw, Trisha Lamprey, and Kevin Kiesterman."

"I hardly think _minor—_" 

Again Ms. Morrow continued speaking as though she had not heard. "I believe Mr. Kiesterman was the instigator of the incident. The latter three students were teasing Miss Quimby about her—" she cleared her throat—"affliction. At that point, your son decided to become involved. He made threatening remarks toward Mr. Kiesterman, who responded in kind. At that point, your son took a step toward Mr. Kiesterman, and—" Karen Morrow paused. "No one is precisely certain as to what happened at that point, but Mr. Kiesterman somehow sustained a substantial gash to his arm. He was taken to the hospital immediately, of course. William's belongings were searched, but no weapons were found." 

"Then how—" Dana stumbled over her words. "How do you know it was his fault?"

Karen Morrow's lips tightened to the point of bloodlessness. "Several students, as well as one of the teachers involved, claim they saw—" she paused—"blades of some sort—knives, or something similar, in the vicinity of your son's hands." Her voice turned angry, accusing. "Because of this incident, William is suspended indefinitely from school. I highly recommend that he be transferred to a different environment, one where his—" another frigid pause—"_condition_ will not affect other students."

Dana drew herself up. "Excuse me? His _condition_? He doesn't have a—"

Then Morrow's cold gaze locked with hers, and the words stilled on her lips. There was something in those stony eyes that should not have been there—that had no right to be there. Black dread coiled in Dana's stomach as she realized what Morrow was implying. But it couldn't be, she told herself silently. It couldn't. It wasn't possible.

Sickened, Dana recoiled. Without another word, she retrieved her son and hurried him out to the car.

***

Later that evening, while William slept and Dana drank martini after martini trying to comprehend the unthinkable, there was a soft knock at the front door. Mulder went to answer it. 

Standing on the front porch was a red-haired woman: tall, attractive, solemn. At her side was an older man in a wheelchair. His bald head gleamed under the tepid yellow of the porch light.

"Good evening, Mr. Mulder," the man said, offering his hand. His words were crisp and impeccably formed, spoken with a slight English accent. "I'm Professor Charles Xavier."

*** 

Well? Is this a good way to return from my hiatus? Tell me what you think. And please…be kind, review. : )

Part II will be up as soon as it is finished. 


	2. Chapter 1: The School

Chapter One: The School 

Mulder raised his eyebrows. "How may I help you?"

Professor Xavier exchanged a glance with the red-haired woman. "May we come inside? I believe I have some information that will interest you."

Mulder, who by now was used to mysterious strangers telling him they had information, stepped back. Xavier and the woman followed him into the living room.

Dana looked up from where she was sitting on the couch. Her gaze fell on the strangers, then darted up to Mulder. "Honey…" Her tone was questioning, but not particularly alarmed.

"I appreciate your hospitality," Xavier said, catching the end of Dana's trailing inquiry. "My name is Professor Charles Xavier, and this is Dr Jean Grey. We'd like to discuss today's events at Lincoln Middle School." 

Dana tensed. Were these people school administrators? Why were they asking about William? They'd already expelled him; what more did they want? 

Then her stomach clenched with dread. Could they be with the government?

"Yes?" she said cautiously, careful not to let her voice betray her sudden suspicion. 

"First of all, we are not with the school, nor are we affiliated with any government organization." Xavier said. Dana started slightly. The alcohol must be affecting her more than she'd thought. Perhaps she'd spoken her last thought aloud. 

Xavier glanced up at Mulder and offered him a small, reassuring smile. "Perhaps you'd better sit down, Mr Mulder. This might take some time to explain."

Mulder, casting a bewildered glance at his wife, sat down. After a moment, so did Dr Grey.

"I will not waste your time or mine with formalities," Xavier began. "I am aware of today's incident at Lincoln Middle School, and I am aware that the school knows of his accelerated healing. As such, I have come to make an offer. 

"Dr Scully, Mr Mulder, your son, as you must know by now, is a mutant."

Dana drew a sharp breath at hearing her fears vocalized. Next to her, Mulder leaned forward, pulling himself into his 'I'm-pissed-but-I'm-not-going-to-show-it' posture. 

"I don't know how you know our son," he said, too calmly, "and I don't know why you're here. And frankly, I don't care. William is not—"

_Excellent_, Dana thought. Yes, Mulder honey, people always like the macho 'mind your own business' approach. You'd think he would have learned by now.

"William is," Xavier said, interrupting him. "His accelerated healing manifested when he was a young child, did it not?"

Dana nodded, feeling apprehensive and sick. 

"That is why those who monitored him at his birth were unaware that the splicing was successful. I did do some research on that particular project. I am sure you know that there are people in the government who would like your son under their control, especially now that his mutation has manifested completely. I am here to offer him a sanctuary from those who would do him harm—not a hideout, for there is no need to keep his whereabouts a secret, but a safe house, a place where he would not be touched. I run a school for gifted children, and neither the government nor its agents would be able to reach him there."

Something clicked in the back of Dana's alcohol-fuzzed mind. "Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. In New York."

Xavier nodded smoothly. "Yes, in Westchester."

"How do you know our names?" Mulder asked suddenly. 

Xavier just smiled.

Mulder and Dana started simultaneously as Xavier's voice echoed in their minds. 

*Your son isn't the only mutant in this house.*

Mulder's face paled. "You're—"

"Telepathic. Yes. As is Dr Grey." 

Dr Grey smiled a little, but remained silent.

"But how—I don't understand." Dana stared at Xavier. "How could you know so quickly about what happened?" Could his telepathy have alerted him? That seemed impossible—at least from so far away—but then, she knew almost nothing of the limits of telepathy.

"Running this establishment is, as I'm sure you'll understand, something of a touchy occupation. There are a good many people who don't like the idea of a school for mutants. So you may see why I feel the need to keep in contact with certain officials in various areas—school systems included." Xavier folded his hands in his lap. The gesture made him look oddly demure. "The superintendent of William's school district contacted me earlier this evening." 

The look in his eyes made Dana wonder if maybe he wasn't telling the truth in its entirety, but, she thought, that was his prerogative. He didn't have to reveal _how_ he knew about the fight. Judging by the number of people in the clinic when she'd gone to the school today, it was no secret.

Still, the man had traveled here from New York as soon as he'd heard, and that seemed odd.

"You may wonder why we came so quickly," Xavier added, and Dana jumped. So he could read minds as well as project—a true telepath. Interesting. 

"As I've stated," he continued, "I am aware of the consequences if word of William's mutation gets out, as it very well may. While he may not be in a great deal of danger—it has, after all, been years since the discovery of the project that created him—"

At that, Dana shuddered violently. She hated any reminder that William had been engineered rather than created naturally.

"—there are regardless a number of threats to his safety. As I'm sure you know."

Next to her, Mulder nodded. Silent fury blazed in his eyes.

"Additionally, the school will be a place where he can be accepted. Being a young man in school can be trying as it is; a mutation makes things exponentially more difficult. Of course, I cannot guarantee acceptance by all the children, but he would be with others who understand what it is like to be different. Mr Mulder." Xavier's voice changed suddenly; his tone sharpened, bordering on irritation. "I assure you, I have no hidden agenda. I am not trying to take your child away from you, and I certainly will not interfere further with your life should you refuse. I understand perfectly that you are between a rock and a hard place, so to speak, and I am merely trying to make other options known." 

Dana hazarded a glance at her husband. Mulder looked stunned. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out.

"I apologize if I have alarmed you." Xavier voice lapsed back into reassuring dignity. "Because of your son's uniqueness, I was concerned for his safety. I assure you, that was the only reason for our hasty arrival."

"Maybe you could tell us a bit more about the school," Dana said, glancing at Mulder again. The shock of Xavier's digression had driven the anger from his face; now he only looked tired and worried.

Xavier nodded. "Of course. First of all, the teachers are mostly former students. Classes run from eight to three Monday through Friday, with a half-hour break for lunch, during which students are free to eat either outside or inside." He paused. "I am not aware of William's academic record, but our junior high school classes offer the pre-Advanced Placement option, and the high school classes offer additional AP work as well, if the student so chooses.

"The building itself was converted into a school approximately twenty years ago," Xavier continued. "Dormitories and classrooms are all contained within the building, as well as dining facilities and an outdoor teaching facility. The grounds themselves are sizable, allowing for freedom in a secure environment."

"How many students are there?" Dana found herself releasing the emotional weight of the issues; now she just wanted the facts, ma'am. She felt a little dazed, but strangely calm.

"The students at the school range in age from five to eighteen. There are dormitories in the main building, where classes are held. Students receive personal attention from the teachers—there are usually no more than six to eight students in a class."

Dana nodded silently.

"I understand that this is bewildering for you." Dr Grey spoke up for the first time. She was looking directly at Dana. "When mutations manifest, it is traumatic for the entire family, not just the individual in which the mutation emerges." Her voice was quiet and sympathetic; suddenly Dana felt like crying.

"We've brought some additional information about the school," Dr Grey added, opening her purse and pulling out a brochure. "Maybe you could discuss it as a family and call us later."

Dana stared at the brochure, which was glossy and boasted a photograph of an enormous mansion on the front. She looked at her husband.

Mulder had lost his aggressive posture and was slouched against the armrest, his head in his hand. He met Dana's eyes and nodded wearily.

Dana took the brochure.

"Our number is on the back," Xavier said. "Please call us."

Dr Grey rose and placed a hand on Xavier's wheelchair. Dana took one look at her husband and walked them to the door by herself.

Before she stepped out the door, Dr Grey turned back. 

"We honestly don't mean you any harm," she said to Dana, "and we don't want you to feel as though you are obligated to make a choice right away. We only wanted to make the school known to you." 

Dana just nodded. Then Dr Grey turned away, and Dana closed the door.

When she came back, Mulder was lying on the couch with his arm thrown over his eyes. 

"Hi," she said.

"Hi," he replied, not taking his arm away from his face.

Dana lifted his feet and sat down underneath them. "So."

"So."

"What do we do?"

Mulder didn't answer.

Then came the tiny voice from upstairs: "Let me go."

Mulder sat up fast, and Dana leapt to her feet. "William!"

Their son was huddled on the landing, peering down at them through the banister supports. His freckled face stood out starkly against the dark hallway. 

"Let me go," he said again, this time with more conviction. "I hate my school. I hate those guys. Their school sounded good. I want to go."

Dana and Mulder looked at each other.

"Honey, why don't you come down here?" Dana said. 

The small pale face vanished for a moment, then reappeared as William trotted down the steps. The red flannel pajamas made him look much younger than his twelve years.

"C'mere." Mulder reached for his son, and William tucked himself willingly under his father's arm. Dana sat down next to him and leaned forward to better see his face.

"So you want to look at the place?" Mulder asked. He sounded relieved.

William nodded. "Yeah. Lincoln sucks."

"_William,_" Dana said warningly. "Language."

"Sorry," William replied automatically. "But it does. Can't go back now, anyway." He shrugged his thin shoulders. "That bald guy's place sounded good. People won't think I'm a freak."

Cold fury skittered up and down Dana's spine. She'd kill the bastard who called her little boy a freak. "You're _not_, honey," she said.

Another shrug. "Maybe." Then he brightened. "I was practicin while you guys were down here. Look!"

He held his right hand out in front of him and balled it into a fist. His brow furrowed in concentration, and then—_snikt!_

Dana's heart stopped.

"Ohmygod," she choked out.

"Yeah, I know, that's what I thought too." William tilted his fist toward the ceiling and inspected the three silver blades extending from between his knuckles. "I'll never need a can opener again," he added, grinning impishly. "Hey Dad, you okay?"

Mulder was staring at the blades, his face dead white. 

"Dad." William tapped his father on the knee with his left hand. "Dad. Yo."

The claws slid back suddenly, and Mulder jumped. "William!"

"What!" The hazel eyes peered at him, confused.

Dana was shaking. "William, go to bed, okay?"

"But Mom—"

"_Just go to bed._"

The look on her face and the tone of her voice quickly melted William's surprised expression into one of deep hurt. 

"_Fine_," he muttered sulkily. 

He stalked up the stairs and didn't look back.

For a moment, husband and wife just sat there frozen. Dana found Mulder's hand and clutched it, feeling as though the world were falling out from beneath her. It was true. The proof was right there, upstairs, in flannel pajamas. Her son, her precious little boy, was a mutant.  

It had worked.

They had won.

"What are we going to do?" Dana whispered. Tears pricked at her eyes and threatened to spill. "How will we keep him safe?"

Mulder wrapped his arms around her, and she could feel his heart pounding in his chest. 

"I don't know, honey," he murmured into her hair. "I don't know."

***

Ok, what did you think? You should review. If you don't, I won't write any more! I won't! Don't test me! : )


	3. Chapter 2: The Boy

**Summary: Jubilee tells Wolverine about William.**

**Author's Notes: I know it was a long time coming, but it's here at last : )**

**Feedback is appreciated, and you should know by now that it motivates me to write. : )**

**Chapter 2: The Boy**

"Checkmate."

"Oh, _shit."_

Hank McCoy reached over and collected the four chessmen won from him by his opponent, then began to reset the board. "You know, Jubilation, if the effort you put into your vocabulary in any way reflects the effort you put into your strategy…"

Jubilee crossed her arms and stuck her lower lip out. "You suck, McCoy."

Hank's eyes sparkled quiet amusement behind his spectacles. "Even if I did, dear girl, it would be a matter entirely of personal choice."

"Ew."

"Yeah, nice, Blue." Jubilee and Hank turned to see Logan sauntering out of the kitchen, munching a sandwich and smirking. "Kick your ass again, darlin'?" he added conversationally, glancing at Jubilee.

Jubilee slouched lower in her seat and scowled. "Shut up," she muttered petulantly.

Logan's grin widened, and he ruffled her hair as he passed. "Sore loser," he teased.

"Learned from the best!" Jubilee yelled at his back, but was answered only by the soft click of the door as it closed on rumbling laughter.

Jubilee turned back to Hank. "I want a rematch," she demanded.

Hank sighed. "_Another one? Have your repeated verbal attacks not sufficiently damaged my self-esteem?"_

"I haven't called you _that many names," Jubilee retorted, somehow managing to look simultaneously offended and amused. "__You're not the one—" She broke off abruptly and fell silent._

Hank glanced up. Jubilee's lips had fallen open; her gaze had gone slightly fuzzy and had drifted off to some point right of Hank's head. He recognized the 'Professor's-paging-me' look and smiled.

After a moment Jubilee's eyes snapped back into focus. "Sorry. Chuck wants to talk to me. Think he was listening in on the game? I don't want another lecture about my language."

Hank rolled his eyes. "That was _nine years ago, Jubilation. You were only __twelve, and I hardly think using the word 'fuck' in every other sentence was appropriate behavior."_

Jubilee gaped at Hank, then burst out laughing. "I love you, McCoy. You can even make a _swear word sound scholarly." She got up, adding sternly, "And this doesn't mean you're exempt from that rematch. Me and my chessboard will catch up to you, and when we do—" she jabbed an emphatic finger at Hank—"be afraid."_

"My chessboard and I," Hank corrected automatically, but he was smiling as he watched her leave.

***

Jubilee drummed her fingers on the Professor's office door, out of courtesy more than necessity. It was a gesture she considered polite, if a little pointless.

*Come in, Jubilee.*

She opened the door. "Hi. You rang?"

"That I did. Have a seat." Xavier smiled and gestured at the armchairs by his desk. Jubilee dropped into the seat nearest the door and raised her eyebrows.

"Well, what's happening? If this is about the mayonnaise incident, I swear I had no idea what was going on."

Xavier laughed. "No, and I'll thank you not to bring that up again in my presence. I don't think I'll ever be able to eat potato salad again. How are you, Jubilee?"

"Not bad." She grinned. "McCoy's been beating me at chess all morning. I think I've taken maybe ten of his pieces in four games."

Xavier lifted an eyebrow. "I know. About your language—"

"I _knew it!"_

"Only joking, Jubilee." Xavier leaned forward and folded his hands on his desk. "Actually, I asked you to come so that we could discuss a new student to the school."

Jubilee brightened. "Ooh. Rad. I love new kids."

"I know." Xavier's lips quirked upwards. "That's why I am consigning him to your care."

The grin froze on Jubilee's face. "Whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait just one sec." She threw her hands up, palms out, as though fending off an attack. "You don't want me to _baby-sit."_

"Not at all." The Professor smiled. "William Mulder is twelve years old and completely capable of attending to his own personal needs. You will simply be aiding his adjustment to the school—showing him around the grounds, introducing him to the other children, ensuring that he finds his classes on Monday, that sort of thing. You'll be acting as an older sibling of sorts."

"You know, when _I was twelve, I would have __loved to have a sister old enough to buy me beer," Jubilee remarked thoughtfully._

"Jubilee…" Xavier warned. 

"Kidding!" Jubilee smiled. "Of course I can do that. Sounds like fun."

"I thought you'd enjoy it." Xavier hesitated. "There are, however, a number of special circumstances of which you ought to be informed."

"Aren't there _always?" Jubilee rolled her eyes. "Lay it on me. Can't be any worse than pulling Kit-Kat out from under her bed in the middle of the night."_

"These circumstances have little to do with William, actually." He paused again. "Twelve years ago, the United States government was placed under intense scrutiny for its endorsement of a long-term project aimed at creating transgenic humans. Do you remember hearing about that?"

Jubilee nodded, looking confused. "Yeah. Project X, or whatever, right?"

"So it was dubbed by the Times, yes, though little information about the project's true focus was revealed to the media. The public was told that a handful of rogue scientists used embryonic stem cells to create humans with a mutated X-gene—artificial mutants, if you will. In reality, the project encompassed much more. There were, at one point, eight different sites in the United States devoted to engineering these transgenic embryos."

"Wow."

"Indeed. The scientists working on the project were not simply assessing the survival rates and phenotypic effects of knockout humans, as they claimed. Their goal was to create invulnerability—a walking weapon."

Jubilee's jaw dropped. Her eyebrows, which had been slowly creeping higher and higher on her forehead, were now at approximately the level of her hairline. "You're joking."

"I wish I was. It gets worse." Xavier rubbed a hand across his lips. "One of the great lies told to the press was about the very essence of the engineering. Yes, there were attempts to replace normal X-genes with mutated ones, but that was fifteen years ago—long after the project began."

Xavier answered Jubilee's question before she had the chance to ask it. "The DNA originally used in the embryos was not harvested from _Homo superior. It belonged to an extraterrestrial species."_

"_What? You mean, like the Shi'ar?"_

Xavier shook his head. "No, not at all. These species were not even humanoid, and their contact with Earth was by no means voluntary." 

"You mean—" Jubilee's eyes rounded. She didn't finish her sentence, but Xavier nodded anyway.

"The infamous Roswell incident of the 1950s was not a hoax, in other words," he continued, "nor was the ship uninhabited. The government found the occupants of the ship interesting not only because they were aliens—"

"Well, _duh." Jubilee recovered from her shock long enough to roll her eyes._

"—but also because they seemed impossible to kill, though the impact should have destroyed both their ship and them. Remember, this happened during the Red Scare, a time when nations were intensely fearful of their enemies. Because of this, the government's first instinct was to use its find to its advantage.

"Scientists gleaned every bit of knowledge they could from the spacecraft—engineers analyzed it day and night, drawing schematics and trying to reproduce its structure. Biologists of the day knew little about genetics—the technology was very limited, and you recall that Watson and Crick's model of DNA was not widely recognized until 1962. They knew, though, that the matter of which the creatures were composed was unlike anything they had ever encountered, and it had to be preserved. And so it was, and when the technology caught up, geneticists began to attempt to splice the alien genetic material with the DNA of humans." Xavier's lips tightened. "Of course, the first problem was acquiring human gametes. In some cases, sperm were purchased anonymously through sperm banks. Eggs, on the other hand, were not as easy to obtain.

"All of the eggs and some of the sperm used in the project were taken from women and men who had been abducted by government employees."

The blood drained from Jubilee's face. She looked stricken.

"How can people not _know about this?" she cried. "It's horrible!"_

"Few people do," Xavier replied. "Jubilee, you must realize that the government is a very powerful entity, and we are only aware of a fraction of what goes on behind its doors. I do remember an incident—oh, it must be eighteen or twenty years now—wherein one of the Presidential advisers, Craig Harrison, decided to take it upon himself to stop the project. It was reported that he died quietly in his sleep. Heart attack."

It took a split second to sink in, then Jubilee's eyes widened.

"Exactly how I felt," Xavier said. "There were, no doubt, countless other deaths like his of which I am not aware. My sources do not tell me everything, and I am grateful for that."

"But how can they _do that? How can they—" Jubilee broke off, looking frustrated and upset._

Xavier just gazed at her sadly. "The government keeps its secrets," he said.

For a moment, there was silence.

"The abductees were categorized," Xavier continued after a moment. "Many times the victim would be returned—with his or her memory altered, by drugs or hypnosis or both—but occasionally his or her gametes would be required a second time, sometimes a third or fourth. To track the donor, a small metal implant was placed somewhere in his or her body—in the nasal cavity, the abdomen, sometimes the back of the neck. If the chip were removed, the person would succumb to some horrific disease—cancer, autoimmune disease, deterioration of the central nervous system. It was, I suppose, a means of keeping the victims quiet and eliminating those who wanted to fight back.

"Sixteen years ago, it was revealed to the public that the X-gene was mutating in more and more children, but project scientists had little use for the abilities of _Homo superior. By that time, they had created hundreds of clones with integrated alien DNA; these beings were infinitely loyal to their creators and did most of the government's dirty work. The project had no need for 'natural' mutants—their creations were much more advanced._

"That is, until they heard of one particular mutant who was near invulnerable, who could heal in mere seconds. Who was being held by the Canadian government."

Jubilee clapped her hands over her mouth. "_Wolvie!"_

"Yes. Logan, known then as Weapon X, belonged, essentially, to Canada. But the US government and its project wanted him. You see, their human-alien hybrids had a few faults. For one, their blood identified them—it was alien blood, it was green, and it killed whomever it touched."

Wide blue eyes met Xavier's solemn grey ones. "God."

"Secondly, the hybrids had an odd vertebral structure. Their bones were composed of the same material as the bones of their alien mothers, so to speak—a kind of organic steel, not unlike that of Peter's armored form—and the bones showed sharply through their skin. Thus, they could be picked out in a crowd by anyone with a little bit of knowledge and sharp eyes, and there was inherent danger in allowing them to wander among humans—what if their blood were to touch someone and inadvertently cause his or her death? In a public place, that could cause a scene and a scandal, and the government certainly didn't want any more of those.

"Thus, the American government wished to splice Wolverine's DNA with the DNA of a human and the genetic material of an alien, in the hopes that his genes would eliminate the physical flaws. They struck a deal with the Canadian government and exchanged a substantial amount of money for Wolverine."

Jubilee looked thoughtful. "But if they needed him so badly, why did they let him go? You can't tell me they've been just letting him roam around the US and Canada without knowing he was there."

"They didn't. After the creation of these double-transgenics, the project was exposed." Xavier took a deep breath. "Wolverine's DNA was spliced into the DNA of twenty-five embryos, which were subsequently implanted back into the twenty-five women from which the eggs were harvested. One of the women was a Special Agent in the FBI. The sperm that fertilized her egg was from the man who would be her husband. Both were abductees, though the man escaped the fate of the implant. Their child was the only surviving alien-mutant-human hybrid.

"He was tested at birth, and his karyotype was completely normal. When his DNA was examined more closely, no genetic markers from the alien DNA were found. The scientists concluded that he had simply survived the interference effect that had proven lethal to the other embryos, and they let him and his mother go. Their decision was, no doubt, heavily influenced by the information leak that resulted in the project's shutdown; the media was on the alert." Xavier gave Jubilee a funny little smile. "The boy about whom I've been speaking is, of course, William Mulder."

Jubilee ran both hands through her hair, looking stunned and bewildered. "So this kid is—is Wolvie's _son? Sort of? Isn't the government going to be chasing him down and taking him back to one of their places?"_

Xavier shook his head. "Only the remaining supporters of the project—the real zealots—and a few higher-ups in the government prove dangerous to William, because they can't forget what he is. Although they will be on the lookout if they catch wind of his situation, he should be safe here; they have no secure place in which to test him, because if you visit any of the sites now, you'll find absolutely nothing. The government completely demolished them years ago to cover its tracks. The only physical evidence of the existence of the project is a small site at Alkali Lake in Canada, and even that is almost totally destroyed. That was where Wolverine discovered the information about his sale to the United States. However," he cautioned, "he knows nothing of this boy, who is not, technically, his son, but who does share a portion of his DNA. Enough to create a mutation very similar to Wolverine's."

Jubilee exhaled loudly. "Whoo. This is a lot to process."

"I know." Xavier looked sympathetic. "I am entrusting this task to you because you get along well with children, and you are closest to Wolverine. I had hoped that you might form a bridge between him and William."

Nodding thoughtfully, Jubilee replied, "I suppose I can try. Am I supposed to tell him that huge story about the kid?"

"Well, you don't have to tell the huge version." Xavier chuckled. "But when Wolverine sees the boy, and his mutation, he will want an explanation."

"Sure." Jubilee settled back in her chair and shook her head. "Man. Wolvie's gonna flip." Then she glanced up at Xavier. "Do you mind if I head out for a while? I want to take a walk and think about all this."

"Of course I don't mind." Xavier smiled.

"When will he get here?"

"Tomorrow, around two. His parents will be coming too, of course; they want to see the school for themselves."

"Wait." 

"Yes?"

"Do his parents know about what their kid's, um, made of?" Jubilee crossed her arms. "'Cause I don't know them, and I don't really want to be the one to break it to 'em."

"Jean and I informed them of the situation when the second time we met with them." Xavier paused. "They took it…well…considering the circumstances…but when they arrive, I think it would be prudent if the situation were mentioned as minimally as possible."

Jubilee nodded and got to her feet.

"Thanks for tellin' me, Professor. Thanks a lot." She watched him anxiously. "I'll do the best I can with him."

"I know you will. Oh, and Jubilee?"

"Yeah?" She half-turned.

The Professor smiled at her. "Thank you. And good luck."

"Sure." Jubilee paused, as though she wanted to say something else, then decided against it. "See you, Professor."

"Good-bye, Jubilee."

"I wonder if he looks like Wolvie," she muttered, then closed the door behind her.

Jubilee wandered the grounds aimlessly, first thinking about what Xavier had told her and then thinking about nothing at all. The weather was surprisingly warm for April, so she went down to the lake and sat on the dock. 

"Suck," she muttered, flopping back onto the sun-warmed wood. How was she supposed to break it to Logan that they'd used his DNA to _manufacture a child? That wasn't news you expected __anyone to take well, let alone Wolverine. And hot damn, aliens. Human genetics was a bitch in and of itself; if they started offering ET genetics at her university, she was __definitely not signing up for it. _

"Thanks a lot, Xavier," she said out loud. "Single-handedly destroy my trust in the government in one afternoon, why don't you."

"That's quite an accomplishment," said a voice.

Jubilee sat up and turned. "Oh. Hey, Bobby." She raised her eyebrows. "Nice ensemble."

Bobby glanced down at his rolled-up jeans and leather sandals. "What?"

"You look like a Norman Rockwell. What are you doing, anyway?"

Bobby brandished his fishing pole. "Fishing. Duh." He kicked off his sandals and sat down, then opened his tackle box and began threading bait onto a hook. "If you want to join me, there're more fishing poles in the boathouse."

"I'll pass, thanks." Jubilee watched him cast his line into the water and tuck the pole handle into a small knothole that had been carved into the wood. "You know, when and if you catch a fish, you're going to have to, like, de-gut it."

"Yeah. So?"  

"You're going to have to _touch it." Jubilee made a face._

Bobby began to laugh. "Aw, is ickle Jubiekins afwaid of a widdle fishie?"

"I'm afraid of being the de-gutter after _you flake out," Jubilee replied, smirking._

"Woman, I have never flaked out in my life." Bobby drew himself up indignantly. "I am the pinnacle of manliness. Now go and fetch me a beer."

"I will do no such thing, Caveman Ug." Jubilee bopped him on the head with one of his sandals. 

"Ow! Ow! No hit! No hit!" Bobby cringed away.

"Wimp," Jubilee teased, laughing. She got to her feet. "Some pinnacle. I'll talk to you later, Bobbo."

"Hey, wait a sec!" Bobby grabbed at her ankle. "You never told me what happened with the Professor."

"I _told you. He single-handedly ruined my opinion of the powers that be."_

Bobby clutched at his chest. "Holy tomato! You mean to tell me there are young people out there who don't like our great government? Somebody get me a defibrillator, I think my Young Republican heart is going to give out." He fell over sideways on the dock.

"Flamin' conservatives." Jubilee grinned and nudged him in the shoulder with her foot.

"Damn whippersnapper liberals," Bobby countered. He sat up. "Really. What happened? Did he tell you he's really an undercover spy? Is he paying off the senator? Wait—I know! He's working for the CIA!"

"None of the above, you psycho." 

"Revolutionary."

"Reactionary."

"Paranoiac."

"Scott Summers."

"Hey!" Bobby put his hands on his hips and adopted a convincingly Cyclopean expression. "I'll have you know that I am an exthtremely wild 'n' crazy guy. Latht week I didn't even iron my shorts."

Jubilee laughed. "That's so true, it's sad."

"Yeah, I know." Bobby leaned back on his hands and looked up at his friend. "So seriously, Jube. What's going on?"

"It's a long story, Bobby."

Bobby took a speculative look at his pole, then at the lake. "Like I'm going anywhere?"

"Good point." Jubilee heaved a sigh and dropped back onto the dock. "Listen, you can't tell anyone this, okay?"

"Sure." 

"Well, there's this kid…"

A half-hour later Bobby was still goggling. "Jeez, Jube, when you said the Professor made you hate the government, I didn't think he really made you _hate the government."_

Jubilee shrugged. "I suppose I'm just disillusioned."

"Big word for a small fry." Bobby quirked a smile at his partner in crime, who stuck her tongue out at him. "Seriously. They, like, _made this kid from Wolverine's genes? That's so weird. Seriously." Bobby couldn't seem to articulate his amazement._

"Your eloquence is overwhelming."

"Shut up," Bobby said, without much conviction. "Okay, so now I know the story, but how are _you?"_

"Me?" Jubilee shrugged. "Peachy as ever. I'm a tough cookie." She bared her teeth. "See?"

Bobby slung an arm around her shoulders. "Yeah, yeah," he said, smiling. "Loser."

"Takes one to know one."

"And damn proud of it." He planted a kiss on the top of her head. "Well, you'll spill sometime. I'm not catching anything," he added, "so you wanna take in some Tekken?"

"You're on." Jubilee leapt lightly to her feet as Bobby reeled in his line, and they walked up the hill in companionable silence.

***

"You're avoiding him."

Jubilee glanced up to see Bobby in the doorway of her bedroom, arms folded, frowning at her. She looked back down at her book and shrugged. "So?"

"You're so fake, it makes me want to puke." Bobby came in and sat down on the bed next to her. "I know you're worried about telling him."

"Am not." 

Bobby reached over and gently took the book away from her. "You are, twit, and you should just do it and get it over with."

Jubilee stuck her lower lip out and blew a strand of hair away from her forehead. "It's not really that big a deal."

"Yeah, right, drama queen. Let's go."

Jubilee crossed her arms. "Later."

"Ain't no time like the present, Jube. I saw him heading downstairs to the Danger Room about an hour ago. If you're lucky, you can catch him on his way out."

"But _Bobby—"_

Bobby reached down, grabbed Jubilee's wrists, and hauled her to her feet. "Now," he said gently.

Sulking, Jubilee stalked out. "Meanie," she muttered over her shoulder. Bobby just smiled.

She caught up with Logan on his way out of the Danger Room, just as Bobby had predicted she would. "Hey, Wolvie," she called.

Logan stopped, turned, and saw her. "Hi, darlin'," he said. He grinned at her. "How many games this time?"

"Four." Jubilee began to walk with him toward the showers, staring at her feet, unable to think of anything else to say.

Logan, watching his partner scuff along in silence, cuffed her on the shoulder. "You okay?"

"Me? Oh, sure. Super." Jubilee stopped at the shower room door and shifted her weight uncomfortably. "Hey, are you gonna be in there long?"

"Am I ever?" Logan leaned against the door, but didn't go in. "What's goin' on, Jube?"

She glanced up at him then, and he was surprised at the troubled look in her blue eyes. "Yeah. Um, I gotta talk to you after you're done anyway, so go ahead and shower, and I'll wait for you out here. 'Kay?"

Logan raised his eyebrows. "Sure."

He thought about the odd expression on her face while he was in the shower, and when he emerged again, toweling his hair dry, it hadn't changed. In fact, she seemed to wince when she saw him.

"I look that bad, huh?" he joked. He held his shirt out to Jubilee. "Hold this, will ya?"

Jubilee took it. "Nah. But Wolvie?"

"Yeah?" Logan finished drying his hair, slung the towel into an overflowing used-towel bin, and took his shirt back from Jubilee. 

"Wanna take a walk?"

"Sure." Logan shrugged into the shirt and began buttoning it. 

They walked outside in silence. Logan was the first to speak. 

"So what's up?" 

"Well…" Jubilee trailed off, looking uncertain. "The professor called me in this afternoon."

"Yeah?"

Jubilee scuffed at the grass as she walked, and it seemed as though she had to force her next words from her mouth. "You remember what you found at Alkali Lake? About…about when you moved to the US?"

Beside her, Logan tensed. This particular topic was not one of his favorites.

"Yeah," he grunted.

"See, Chuck told me that when they, um, brought you here, it wasn't just 'cause they wanted Weapon X. It was 'cause they wanted your DNA." Sparks dripped from Jubilee's fingers as she twisted her hands together anxiously. 

"DNA?" Logan furrowed his brow. There was trepidation in his voice. "Why? Jube, what's this about?"

"They…See, there was this project." Jubilee put her head down and walked faster. "What they wanted to do was make…make…The professor called it a supersoldier. I mean, they didn't clone you or anything," she added hastily, seeing Logan's raised eyebrows, "but they did sort of…sort of use your DNA for a kid."

"_What?" Logan stopped dead, grabbed Jubilee roughly by the shoulders, and spun her around to face him. "Say that again," he demanded._

"Wait, let me explain better." Jubilee looked panicked. "I mean—okay, look, Wolvie, they took some of your DNA and spliced it into a zygote—I mean, stem cells—whatever—I mean, it's only the X-gene—oh, shit, that wasn't any better," she said, distressed. "I'm sorry—he thought I'd do a better job than this—"

Logan wasn't paying attention; he was staring at the forest beyond Jubilee, an expression of blank shock on his face.

"Wolvie?" Jubilee said timidly, trying in vain to pry his right hand off her swiftly bruising arm. "Wolvie, you okay?"

He wasn't, she knew. Traveling to Alkali Lake hadn't quieted his demons; it had only put names with those ghostly faces of his nightmares. He'd been devastated when he'd discovered how the Canadian government had used him, and Jubilee feared he'd take this news no better.

"Wolvie?" she repeated. "Snap out of it."

This time Logan's eyes went to hers. She could see pain and barely-restrained rage roiling in their depths, but he didn't explode. Instead, he loosened his grasp and stepped back.

"What else?" His voice was low.

Jubilee reached out and took his hands in both of hers, which turned out to be a mistake, as his fingers immediately tightened again. "He's coming here, Wolvie. He's twelve years old and he's coming here. His name is William."

Logan's lips whitened, and he pulled back. "Gonna go for a walk," he muttered tightly.

"There's more I haven't told you yet—"

"Not now." He cut her off. "Ain't gonna do any good now. Can't handle it. Later." 

Shoulders set, he stalked away.

Jubilee watched him disappear into the forest, tears of frustration flooding her eyes. She'd planned the whole speech down to the pauses for breath, but the minute she'd begun her story, it had fallen to pieces. She stomped toward a small tree and aimed a vicious kick at its trunk, which, as it turned out, gained her nothing but a sore foot. "Ow," she moaned miserably, sitting down hard. 

 A few minutes later, a voice called out to her. "Jubilee."

Jubilee looked up, startled. "Oh—Jean."

Jean sat down in the grass beside her teammate. "How are you?"

"Okay." Jubilee swiped at her teary eyes. "What're you doing out here?"

"You _do realize I'm psychic, don't you?" Jean raised her eyebrows. "I came out to see if you were all right."_

"So you already know about my stunning failure to break it to him gently." Jubilee put her head in her hands. 

Jean put a reassuring hand on the younger woman's shoulder. "It was hard news to tell anyone, sweetie. You were fine. And he took it…" she paused. "…rather well."

"Right." Jubilee's voice was muffled.

 "Look, do you think he would have kept his cool with anyone else? Remember when Professor Xavier told him the meaning of what he'd found in Canada?" She winced at the memory. "He wouldn't even have listened to _me."_

Jubilee raised her head and snorted loudly. "Oh. _Double right. 'Cause he doesn't, like, worship you, or anything."_

Jean's eyebrows knitted. "Hey, now—"

"Sorry," Jubilee apologized quickly. "I didn't mean that."

"S'okay. So how are you?"

Jubilee's shoulders lifted and fell in a shrug. "Been better."

"And worse," Jean reminded her. She leaned back on her hands. "You want to talk about it?"

Her words brought a smile to Jubilee's lips. "Seems like everyone's askin' me that today," she commented, pulling up a handful of grass.

"Oh?" Perfectly plucked eyebrows arched. "Who?"

"Bobby." Jubilee scattered the grass. "I was nervous about tellin' Wolvie. Guess I had reason to be," she added, rolling her eyes.

"You were fine," Jean said again. "I know it's hard to give bad news to someone you care about."

"Hope he cools down before William gets here." Jubilee sighed. "Let's go back. I want to be there if he shows up."

"Sure." Jean stood and offered a hand, which Jubilee took. "He'll be fine. Besides—" she smiled briefly—"he didn't get to hear the end of the story."

"True." Jubilee rubbed absently at the sore spots on her shoulders. "Hey, Jean."

"Yeah?"

"How'd you find this kid?"

Jean shoved her hair back from her face. "He popped his claws at school, if you can believe that," she said with a wry little laugh. "Then he got expelled, which solved the transfer problem nicely. Real nice of those administrators."

"Claws." Jubilee shook her head in disbelief. "This is positively unreal."

"You're not used to it by now?" Jean teased. 

"Touché." 

They arrived back at the Mansion in time to see Hank emerge, blinking, into the sunlight. "Jubilee, there you are," he said, smiling. "How do you feel about a rematch?"

Jean, Jubilee thought, had obviously communicated to him how upset she'd been about the conversation with Logan. Though she usually objected to having her thoughts spread around the Mansion, she found, because it was Hank, that she didn't really mind. With a glance at Jean, who nodded briefly, she accepted.

They started off playing chess, but Jubilee's concentration was shot, and pretty soon they switched to cards. Before he knew it, Hank was dealing out poker hands to Scott, Remy, and Kitty, as well as Jean and Jubilee.

"Royal flush," Kitty announced two hours later, slapping her cards on the table. Her cheeks were flushed with triumph. "Beat that, Popsicle."

The blood drained out of Bobby's face. "Oh no."

Scott, who had folded two minutes into the deal, chuckled. "Very nice, Kitty."

Snickering, Kitty reached out and swept the pile of poker chips and bills toward her. 

"Wait—Kitty—" Bobby had one hand out and was protesting feebly. "That's the last of my paycheck! Kitty!"

"Them's the breaks, kid," Kitty smirked, counting as she stacked. "Thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two…That's thirty-five bucks you owe me, Bobby." She aimed a dazzling smile at Bobby, who was still stammering.

"Well, that's about it for me, all," Jubilee said while their attention was still focused on Kitty and Bobby. Jean glanced up with mild concern in her eyes, but Jubilee smiled at her reassuringly. "I'm headed to bed."

"Night, Jube," they chorused. 

"Night," Jubilee replied, and trotted up the stairs to her room.

***

Logan stood at the edge of the woods bordering the lawn. He'd been wandering the grounds since early evening, when Jubilee had told him about the boy.

The boy.

At first he'd been furious. Consumed by rage, he'd taken his anger out on trees, rocks, anything upon which he could get his hands—or claws, for that matter. At last he'd collapsed, exhausted and sore; after that he'd simply lain on the grass with his eyes closed and his mind racing. Once he was collected enough to stand, he'd walked. For hours he'd traipsed through the thick forests on Xavier's property, and when he'd finally arrived back at the house, he was considerably calmer. 

He felt slightly guilty for walking out on Jubilee like that, but she knew his long expeditions into the woods were cathartic, and he always came back to talk to her after he'd taken care of the anger. 

For a moment he vacillated between going straight to her room and waiting until morning; it was late, after all, and she should, in an ideal universe, be asleep. Knowing her, though, she'd be restless and jittery—she always was, until she knew he was home safely. 

_That Jubilation, Logan thought, shaking his head. She drove him crazy sometimes with her constant worrying, but he had to admit that no one had ever cared about him quite like she did._

Sighing, he slipped quietly into the Mansion and went upstairs. Sure enough, the soft sounds of late-night TV were emanating from Jubilee's room. He tapped lightly on the door and heard her jump up, stumble, and curse. A split second later the door flew open. "Hi."

"Hi." 

"C'mon in." Jubilee stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself. "How are you?"

"Better." Logan eyed her up and down and felt doubly guilty when he saw the dark smudges of exhaustion under her eyes. "You should be asleep."

"Hah. Like we've never had this conversation before." Jubilee sat down on her bed, and Logan assumed his usual slouch in the desk chair. "I told ya before, I can't sleep when you're out roamin' around."

Logan made a noncommittal noise and crossed his arms. "What else is there?"

"Hm?" Jubilee looked momentarily thrown. "Oh. Hold on." 

She reached for the remote control and muted the television, then sat looking at her hands. 

"Jube." Did she need a reminder?

"Thinking." After a moment, Jubilee launched into her explanation. "I didn't do a very good job of telling you before," she said carefully, not looking at him, "so I don't want to screw this up again. I'll tell ya everything the Prof told me. Are you gonna be okay?"

"Not gonna up 'n leave again, if that's what you're asking," Logan replied gruffly.

"Right. So there was this project, okay, and they wanted to make an invincible soldier. And they had these aliens that crashed in the 1950s, but they were weird looking, so they needed to cover up their flaws." Jubilee recited this in a monotone, sounding as though she were reading from cue cards. "An' before they got shut down, they heard about you up in Canada with your healing factor. So they got the idea to put some o' your genes, the X-gene, I guess, into these hybrids they were building. 'Cause they wanted to make their alien-people more human, I guess. But they still had to be invincible. So they—" here she stumbled a little—"bought you and I guess what happened is they took some of your DNA and put it in some embryos or whatever, but only one of them survived, and right after he was born the project got shut down. So they let him and his mom go. And his name is William and he has claws like yours but his bones are different, and he just got expelled for being a mutant, I guess, and Chuck's afraid that people will come after him 'cause he's part alien and part mutant, so he's bringing him here and he wanted me to tell you 'cause he knew you'd wonder." This last part came out in a small verbal explosion. Jubilee tapped her fingers against her thighs and waited apprehensively for Logan's reaction.

After a long silence, Logan spoke. "So when's he gonna be here, then?" he asked, and Jubilee looked up in surprise at the evenness of his tone.

"Tomorrow. Strike that—later today," she corrected herself, glancing at the clock. "So you're okay?"

"Seems so." Logan exhaled loudly. "Gotta tell ya, though, darlin—if you ever spring somethin' like that on me again—"

"I won't. I promise. I'm sorry that went so badly. I was really scared," Jubilee confessed. "I was afraid you'd react—"

"Like I did," Logan interrupted her.

"Well—yeah."

He tried for a little smile. "You gonna be around tomorrow when he gets here?"

"'Course. The prof wants me to be his buddy. You know, show him around, all that."

Logan got up, shook his head hard, then sat down on the bed beside Jubilee. "Might need yer moral support," he joked, not really joking. 

"'Course," she said again, looking up at him sideways. "Aren't I always?"

He slung an arm around her shoulders. "That ya are, darlin," he said, "that ya are."

***

 Is this heading in a good direction? Let me know at janewestin@hotmail.com or leave a review…please, please, please. 


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